


Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

by trajektoria



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Established Relationship, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, unexpected turn of events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock never remembers important dates, his birthday included. Fortunately, John does and even brings the present for his forgetful lover. But the quiet night together takes a sinister and unexpected turn when John disappears...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Sherlock was hunched over his microscope, observing intently strands of hair sandwiched between panes of glass, when the silence that blissfully permeated the flat was broken by the sound of footsteps coming from downstairs. The detective pricked up his ears. Obviously, the commotion was made by John, who else? Sherlock wouldn't be himself though if at this point he didn't try to deduce his lover's state of mind. He always knew beforehand how John felt. And today John seemed happy. Excited, possibly. That was... odd. Normally, after a full day at work John was dead on his feet and barely able to crawl up the stairs. What happened? Sherlock was mildly intrigued, but his face remained expressionless. He had to maintain his image. 

John quickly ran up the stairs, jumping two steps at the time, his smile radiating throughout the whole apartment. 

"Sherlock!" He shouted in an upbeat tone the moment he placed his foot in the living room.

"I'm in the kitchen." Sherlock was absolutely unfazed. 

"Oh, I know that! Come here for a second, will you?" 

"Busy," he replied tersely. 

"Just for a moment. Please," John said, producing a strange sound.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. Was that a giggle? John was _giggling_? Sherlock sprang from his chair and hotfooted it to the living room. And there John was, a winsome grin showing on his face. His hands were hidden behind his back, obviously holding something big and heavy. 

"What day is today, Sherlock?" John asked before his partner could open his mouth. A crease appeared on detective's forehead as he crinkled his face in concentration. He knew he was horrible with dates, but kept thinking frantically, doing his best to impress John.

"Wednesday?" He ventured to guess.

"Yes, but also...?" John found it really hard to suppress heartfelt laughter that began to form in his throat. 

Sherlock pondered for a while longer and then finally gave up.

"I have no idea. Honestly," he admitted blandly with a half-hearted shrug. 

"Why am I not surprised?" John rolled his eyes, but quickly explained the situation with a mixture of amusement and fondness. "Happy Birthday, Sherlock."

"Oh." Sherlock lost all of his eloquence when John handed him a largish, heavy box wrapped up in dark blue paper and tied with a red ribbon. The detective was completely stupefied by the gift.

"That was... completely unnecessary, John," he chided his lover for being sentimental, but his heart sank when he saw hints of sadness flickering across John's face. His expression softened. "But thank you, anyway." He leaned over and gave John a gentle kiss on the cheek. Watson approved of that and Sherlock's unenthusiastic behaviour was instantly forgiven.

"Wondering what's inside?" John asked with a roguish glint in his eye. 

Sherlock focused his attention completely on the box. His mind was racing, looking for clues, catching every detail, considering every possibility, inferring conclusions...

"Oh, just open it already!" An impatient snort of laughter interrupted Sherlock's deduction. Detective shot a miffed glance at John, but started to tear the paper off the box. When he finished, he didn't look overly pleased. 

"A telescope?" He said in disbelief, his eyes riveted on the good doctor. "John, if this is another allusion to my lack of astrological knowledge..."

"No, no!" John protested with a chuckle. "Remember what you once said about the stars? You don't care about them, but you can appreciate them. So the telescope is just a way to appreciate the beauty a bit closer, nothing else."

Sherlock felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was fascinating how well John knew him. Sherlock looked casually at the window. The night had fallen already and the sky was clear. Ideal conditions for stargazing.

"Okay, so let's try this telescope out!" Sherlock proposed vigorously, taking the contraption out of the box. 

"Oh, I'd love to, Sherlock, but I'm so tired I'll pass out any moment now. It was hellish at the clinic today, I'm going straight to bed," he said in an apologetic tone and gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the lips. "Just familiarise yourself with the telescope and tomorrow you'll show me everything, okay?"

"Fine..." Sherlock muttered in his most indifferent voice to mask disappointment. 

"Goodnight then, Sherlock." John disappeared in Sherlock's bedroom - their bedroom - with a long, gaping yawn. 

The turn of events left Sherlock quite petulant. It was very rude of John to drop the present like that and then just skedaddle. Especially on such a special day like Holmes' birthday. The fact that he had completely forgotten about it in the first place didn't change a thing. Sherlock sighed inwardly and stared at the telescope in his hands. He might as well check if it was worth anything. 

Sherlock went with the device to the bedroom upstairs. Since John decided to move in with him, the room was virtually unoccupied, they used the space as a storage room. That was fortunate because the spot was perfect for stargazing. Sherlock placed the telescope beside the window and spent a few minutes kneeling on the floor while adjusting it. After a few trial and errors, when he finally decided that everything was as it should be, he looked through the eyepiece. 

The sight was indeed magnificent. When Sherlock was a child, he had spent countless hours staring at the sky, wondering what marvels might await him there. However, when he learnt that there is no life on other neighbouring planets and, what's more, he'd never be able to go there, he lost interest in the sky whatsoever. Still, it was beautiful. But Sherlock's mind was too restless, to admire even the utmost beauty for a longer period of time. Besides, without John it was senseless. Soon Sherlock found himself staring through the telescope not at the sky, but at the streets and houses below, spying on people. Definitely, it was more absorbing occupation. 

He glanced at the block of flats in the distance, when something instantly caught his attention. In one of the apartments the light was switching off and on every few seconds. When the light was on, the big star painted in red was visible on the window. That was odd, but what really distressed Sherlock and caused him to gasp in horror were two scarlet letters written right next to the star: **JW**. 

Sherlock pulled back from the telescope, feeling a creeping sense of anxiety. He jumped to his feet and ran like the wind towards the bedroom. His worse fears came true. The room was empty. A note, consisting of letters cut out from the newspaper and glued to the sheet od paper, was laying on the unused bed. Sherlock grit his teeth as he picked it up. The message said: 

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_  
 _How I wonder what you are!_  
 _Up above London so high,_  
 _Like a lover in the sky!_

_When the smiling John is gone,_  
 _When the nothing shines upon,_  
 _Then you show your little light,_  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, all the night._

_Then detective in the dark,_  
 _Thanks you for your tiny spark,_  
 _He could not see which way to go,_  
 _If you did not twinkle so._

_Though I know not what you are,  
Twinkle, twinkle, little star._

Sherlock gave in to panic, but only for a split seconds. Fear wouldn't help John right now; deductive skills would. Sherlock's eyes wandered across the room, noting various details. The window was opened. No signs of a struggle, so the kidnapper must have threatened John with a gun before he went to bed. The letters were cut out from a broadsheet, so the mastermind behind it was intellectual or aspiring as such. Choosing a slightly altered lullaby as a message, showed that the perpetrator was toying with Sherlock and liked it. But all of that didn't really matter. Detective already knew where he had to go.

Sherlock left the flat running, the tails of his coat flapping like wings, and didn't stop until he reached the block of flats he spotted before. This time the light in the apartment was on all the time, leading him like a beacon. Sherlock knew it was a trap, but he didn't have any choice. He couldn't let whoever it was to hurt John. Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the bloody star as if he suddenly developed tunnel vision. The distance was too long to be sure, but the detective hoped that it was paint and not actual gore. Sherlock quickly assessed on which floor the flat was positioned. Sixth floor, door to the right. 

The front door to the building was unlocked which was suspicious. Obviously, a trap. Sherlock shot a quick glance at the elevator, but decided against using it. It was too easy to get stuck there. He headed for the staircase. Sixth floor was quite a climb, but he reached it in record time, still being extremely careful. So far nothing had happened, but he had to be vigilant. Finally, he stood before the door marked with "36". He knew it was the place, even without a small red star painted inside the six. Sherlock inhaled deeply, steadying his breath. Whoever had the audacity to kidnap John, will suffer and perish. He only wished desperately that John  his lover, his friend, his blogger, his heart  would be unscathed. 

Sherlock reached for the handle and slowly opened the door, taking a small peek inside. The room was pitch black, Sherlock couldn't see anything. A bit not good. The moment he would enter, the lights would go on and he'd have to face the enemy. But really, what choice did he have?

Sherlock took a step inside and everything went as he predicted. The lights went on, blinding him completely. What he did not foresee though, was the shout that came just afterwards.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock!"

Sherlock blinked a few times, looking in bewilderment at his friends, who were grinning like a bunch of madmen. All were here: Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, even Mycroft, appearing less grumpy than usual. And above all, John. Safe, sound and smiling. That was all that counted. Sherlock sighed with relief and wrapped his arms around John's waist possessively, holding him tight. Explanations could wait. 

"I'm sorry for all of this conspiracy and making you worry, but otherwise you'd never agree to a birthday party." John apologised, embracing Sherlock tenderly. 

"You're absolutely correct," he said, furrowing his eyebrows. "Parties are tedious." He shot a knowing glance at Mycroft. "I'm sure you had something to do with it, brother dear?"

Mycroft had the decency not to look too smug. 

"Of course. Let's say I was in charge of... logistics and planning."

Sherlock smirked. 

"I should have guessed... Only you could devise such a wicked plan..."

"Time for the main attraction! Bring forth the cake!" John ordered with a clap of his hands before the conflict between brothers could escalate any further. The door to the adjacent room opened and two waiters pushed in a big chocolate cake with over thirty burning candles on top of it. 

"Go on, Sherlock. Make a wish and blow the candles!" John urged him with a smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"That's silly."

"Don't be such a wet blanket." John nudged him playfully and the others shouted their encouragements. 

Sherlock grumbled, but gave way in the end. 

"Fine. You have to blow the candles with me, though."

"No, you should do it alone or your wish won't come true!" John insisted. 

Sherlock smiled warmly at him, the only person who had melted his heart.

"All my wishes have already come true," he whispered, leaning closer to give John a soft kiss. John's face broke into an expression of delight and he nodded. Their friends whooped cheerfully as the lovers blew the candles together, holding hands, their fingers intertwined.


End file.
